


Rent Negotiations

by BillyMitchell



Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Polyamory, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29690700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BillyMitchell/pseuds/BillyMitchell
Summary: When Bob can't pay his rent, he and Mr. Fischoeder come up with a means of rectifying the situation.
Relationships: Bob Belcher/Calvin Fischoeder, Bob Belcher/Linda Belcher
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Rent Negotiations

When Bob knocked on Mr. Fischoeder’s front door, his heart was in his throat. As he waited for Mr. Fischoeder to hear it and come to him, he stepped back and snuck a look at the mansion that towered before him. Bob’s landlord lived in more luxury than Bob knew he ever would, and he had to admit it was a little nauseating to look at.

After a few seconds, Mr. Fischoeder answered the door, wearing his typical white suit. His eyepatch was nestled snugly against his face as always. Even on such a hot day, there wasn’t a drop of sweat on him.

Drenched in sweat from his walk there and probably starting to smell like something more than just the deep fryer back at the restaurant, Bob felt underdressed in his t-shirt and sweatpants.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on that before Mr. Fischoeder spoke.

“Bob,” Mr. Fischoeder said, hands clasped behind his back and a toothy grin rising on his face. “Your rent is more than a few days late, you know.”

“I know,” Bob said, looking down at his shuffling feet. “That’s what I came to talk to you about, actually. It hasn’t been a good month for the restaurant. I think people aren’t getting out as much with this heat wave. I don’t have the money for you right now.”

Bob had a headache all of a sudden. He reached up and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Bob,” Mr. Fischoeder repeated, his lightly scolding tone sickly sweet in the air. “This is the second time this year.”

“I know,” Bob said, still avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry.”

He really was. Not for Mr. Fischoeder, but for his family. For himself.

“You truly don’t have the money?”

“No.”

The word hung in the air between them for a few seconds before Mr. Fischoeder said, “Shall we proceed with the same arrangement as last time? I believe we agreed then that if we did this again I’d have to be more stern with you.”

Bob blushed. “Yes, we—we did.”

“Would you still like to proceed, then? Otherwise, another discussion will have to be had. And remember, it was your idea in the first place to do what we did the last time you were unable to pay me… monetarily.”

With that, Mr. Fischoeder reached across the threshold of the door and poked Bob in the chest. His touch was gentle, but firm. He meant business, as he always did.

“Sure,” Bob said when he realized it had been a long time since either of them had spoken. “I’m fine with that.”

“Alrighty,” Mr. Fischoeder said, grabbing Bob by the arm and pulling him inside. “Perhaps this will serve as a reminder for you to be more frugal in the coming months.”

Bob opened his mouth to protest, but shut it and instead let himself be pulled through Mr. Fischoeder’s foyer, past his living room, and into his home office.

After settling into the burgundy armchair at the edge of the room, Mr. Fischoeder patted his lap.

“Let’s get you over my knee,” he said. “I know we’ve only done this on one other occasion, but I’m sure you recall the drill.”

Bob moved to comply, and noticed his legs were trembling a bit. Just before he leaned over, Mr. Fischoeder stopped him.

“On second thought, in the interest of added firmness, perhaps you should take those horrible, cheap pants of yours down. Though I doubt they’d provide you much padding anyway. Are you comfortable with that, Bob?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bob said, and obeyed.

He wondered why he’d agreed so easily.

“Going commando, I see,” Mr. Fischoeder smiled, moving his eye up and down. “Aren’t you just coming from work at this hour?”

“I, ah, haven’t had time for laundry in a couple weeks,” Bob explained.

He could feel his face getting redder, and hoped his mustache covered most of it.

Mr. Fischoeder nodded as if he understood, but Bob doubted he’d ever run short on clean laundry before.

Still, he said, “I see,” and patted his lap once more. “Over you go, then, and don’t think I’ll be easy on you this time.”

“Uh, okay,” Bob said, and settled himself over Mr. Fischoeder’s lap. He could feel the older man’s thighs, surprisingly firm, against his stomach. “Thank you for doing this. I hope I won’t need it again, but it helps for now. Linda and I are both—Thank you.”

“The honesty you two have with each other is truly… strange. But, of course. I’m happy to oblige,” Mr. Fischoeder said. “Now hush. Mentally count to ten if you’d like. I’ll do the same.”

Bob nodded and closed his eyes, waiting for the first blow to land.

_Whap._

He jolted forward, more than he’d meant to. Mr. Fischoeder had to tug him back by his hips and put him in place again. 

“Easy, tiger,” he said. “I see I’ll need to hold onto you better than that.” 

“Sorry,” Bob called back. 

The last time he’d been over Mr. Fischoeder’s knee, it had hurt, but not this much. Either the pain was just harsher on Bob’s exposed skin than it was over the back of his pants or Mr. Fischoeder was hitting him harder than he had last time. 

Maybe it was both. 

“Now, Bob.” _Whap._

“Ah.” 

“You should know better than to shirk on rent for not just one month, but two, out of the same calendar year.” 

_Whap._

Bob winced, but managed to remain silent and—mostly—still this time. 

“You’re a businessman, aren’t you? Surely you should know something about honor.” 

Bob opened his mouth to say he didn’t really think those two things coincided, but all he did was let out another sharp gasp when Mr. Fischoeder whacked him again. 

No, Mr. Fischoeder was definitely hitting him harder than last time. It was... kind of nice. Cleansing, maybe. The realization made Bob feel a little embarrassed, but not in a way that made him want Mr. Fischoeder to stop. 

Mr. Fischoeder raised his hand again, and Bob waited for it to come down, his heart beating hard in his chest. He wrapped his arms around Mr. Fischoeder’s calf for stability, and maybe for some comfort too. 

Then the smack didn’t come. 

Mr. Fischoeder asked, “Mr. Belcher?” 

“Um, uh-huh?” 

“Are you enjoying this?” 

Bob was suddenly very aware of how naked he was, from the waist down anyway, and of how much Mr. Fischoeder could probably feel through those thin, almost silky, pants of his. 

Mr. Fischoeder didn’t give him any more time to answer the question before— 

_Whap. Whap. Whap. WHAP!_

“Ah, ow, ow, ow.” 

_Whap!_

“Fuck.” 

Those last two really stung. Bob could feel his eyes starting to burn, but there were no tears. Last time, though, he hadn’t even gotten close to crying. 

“Language,” Mr. Fischoeder warned. “Shall I remove my belt or simply wash your mouth out with soap?" 

“Neither, please,” Bob said. “I won’t do it again.” 

He hoped he didn’t sound meek, but he feared he did. Oh, well. He had to seem calm and in control in most areas of his life as it was. He might as well let himself have this, even if he couldn’t understand why exactly he wanted it so much. 

“Very well, I’ll give you a pass just this once,” Mr. Fischoeder relented, poking Bob on the butt as he spoke, just hard enough to make him squirm. “But don’t think you can press your luck again, young man.” 

Bob smiled at that, though he wasn’t sure why. 

“Okay,” he said. “Two more?” 

“Two more, dear, and stop squirming so much down there.” 

“Sorry.” 

“You apologize entirely too much,” Mr. Fischoeder said, and brought his hand down again, hard, on the back of Bob’s left thigh. 

“Ow!” 

“Sorry about that. Depth perception isn’t always the best with this patch I have to wear. Are you going to pay your rent next month?” Mr. Fischoeder asked. 

“Yes,” Bob gasped, still catching his breath. 

“Are you sure you’ll want to?” 

“What?” 

_Whap._

“Yow!" 

The room was silent for a few minutes, silent and still. It was cold, too, Bob knew that, but most of his exposed skin was hot and stinging. He tried to get up, or thought he tried to at least, but he just stayed limp. Maybe that was for the better, he thought. 

“Bob?” Mr. Fischoeder asked, and Bob could tell by the rising pitch of his voice that he must have said his name a few times now. 

“Uhhhh,” was all that came out of Bob’s mouth. 

He was vaguely aware of Mr. Fischoeder leaning over and peeking down at his face, but he didn’t raise his eyes to meet the other man’s gaze. He couldn’t move enough to do that. 

“Are those tears?” 

“What? No,” Bob said, but then he noticed the tops of his cheekbones were damp. 

It was just sweat, wasn’t it? 

“Maybe a little,” he amended. 

“Well, come up then.” Mr. Fischoeder put his hands under Bob’s arms and pulled him up. “Have I hit you too hard? Are you hurt, more than you should be? You should have said something.” 

“No—” Bob started to say, but he had to stop to sniffle. “I don’t think so, anyway. I just—I don’t know. This doesn’t happen to me very much, like ever.” 

Mr. Fischoeder cocked his head to the side. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” 

“Maybe a little,” Bob said. “Not in a bad way, I think—I think it was just overwhelming for a minute there. Rougher than I’m used to, but I didn’t mind—” 

“Let’s settle that, then,” Mr. Fischoeder said. 

With that, he flipped Bob over his knee once again. Bob’s eyes widened, but when Mr. Fischoeder started massaging him, rubbing gentle circles on his still-bare butt and upper thighs, he relaxed into the sensation easily. 

“Oh,” he moaned, and then covered his mouth with his hand, wishing he hadn’t made that sound. 

“That’s nice, isn’t it?” Mr. Fischoeder asked, singsongy. “How are you feeling now?” 

“Better,” Bob said. “You’re good with your hands. No rent for this month, then?” 

Mr. Fischoeder let out a laugh, so sudden and sharp it sounded like it had taken him by surprise. “I won’t hear of any. And as for the future—don’t abuse this, but you can always come to me when you’re struggling, Bob. I may punish you, but that’s the worst of it. I won’t turn you out on the street, not with your wife and children. You know that, don’t you?” 

“I do now. Thank you.” 

“A man should be as gentle as he can be stern. One can get far in the world that way. And Bob?” 

“Mm-hm?” Bob hummed. 

His eyes were closed, and he was enjoying Mr. Fischoeder’s touch so much he felt like he could fall asleep. 

“Would you like it if I made you dinner? You said you’re free for the evening, and I’m sure you could stand to eat something other than those greasy burgers of yours.” 

“Oh, Mr. Fischoeder, I don’t just eat—” 

“Hush, hush, don’t upset yourself. What do you say about dinner? I’ll make whatever you want, and you can even eat standing up if you like.” 

“Sure,” Bob relented with a smile. “Just, uh, rub me more first.” 

“Will do, burger man. Will do." 


End file.
